


Friends, Neighbours, Lovers?

by eclipse_solaire



Category: Rugby - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:16:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclipse_solaire/pseuds/eclipse_solaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen Farrell and George Ford realise their feelings towards each other have crossed the line of platonic to romantic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends, Neighbours, Lovers?

The red, glossy front door flew open, hitting the wall loudly. Owen sighed, he could always tell when George had arrived; he had never opened a door carefully in his life. There was a perpetual scuff on the cream wall of the entry that Owen’s mum had recently given up trying to clean off. What was the point? It would only be back next time George came over.

“I’m in the living room.” Owen called out. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want!” He kicked his uninjured leg onto the coffee table, thankful his mum wasn’t there to nudge them off with a quick glare in his direction, like usual.

George strolled into the room, a bottle of beer in each hand and a frown on his handsome face. “Mate, your fridge fucking stinks. What the hell is in there?” He flopped onto the sofa next to Owen, causing beer to slosh over the rim of the bottle onto his hand.

“I spilled a protein shake in there the other day and forgot to wipe it up…” he trailed off at the amused look on his friend’s face. “I was going to clean it up, okay, but I had a hospital appointment and completely forgot and now it’s firmly stuck.”

George’s loud laugh filled the room. “You’re hopeless.” He passed a glass to Owen and licked the beer off his hand. Owen couldn’t help but stare at the brief flash of pink tongue against tanned flesh. Swallowing quickly, he turned his attention to the TV screen and busied himself with putting the football on.

Owen wasn’t really into football, but his family were in Antigua and he was home alone, so he invited George over to watch the world cup and hang out. They hadn’t seen each other for a while, as he’d been busy with the Saracens and George with Bath Rugby. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d chilled together. He’d missed it and he’d missed his best friend.

“It’s typical that England got knocked out so early.” George sighed. “They’re hopeless. I just pray that we have better luck next year.”

“Don’t jinx it, Fordy.”

“I never took you for the superstitious type.” George laughed. “I highly doubt that will jinx us.”

Both guys turned their attention to the TV. The whistle had just been blown and Argentina had the ball. “Argentina will win this.” Owen announced. George flicked his eyes from the wide screen TV to the man sat next to him. The steely blue eyes of his childhood friend were fixed to screen, not noticing that he was being watched. He was mesmerised by Owen’s lips wrapped around the bottle top and the bob of his Adams apple as he swallowed the cold, bubbly beer.

Clearing his throat, George quietly replied “Yeah, probably.” He wasn’t interested by the game and the amateur dramatics; he wanted to talk to Owen. “Do you think we’ll both be on the team next year?” He winced internally at his question. He knew it was stupid, he knew Owen wouldn’t have a clue and he knew he was grasping for something, anything, to say to get Owen’s attention, but this topic? Nobody ever discussed it. He’d never been nervous around his friend before, so why was he suddenly acutely aware of everything he said? He couldn’t understand it.

“Who knows, man? Who knows? All we can do is work hard and earn it.” Owen flicked his eyes to George, who was, bizarrely, flushing an endearing shade of red. “I just hope my leg’s up to it.” He gave an annoyed glance at the leg resting on the coffee table, wrapped in a bulky leg brace.

“It will be and you’ll definitely be on the team.” He took a sip of his beer and looked at Owen, really looked at him. He hadn’t noticed the stubble on his usually smooth face and the dark shadows under his eyes. “The leg isn’t getting you down, is it?” He shifted in his seat, tucking his left leg underneath him so he could turn his body towards Owen.

“A bit.” Owen sighed. He scrubbed his big hand over his face and rested his head back on the sofa. “I know it’ll get better and the season has finished but it’s still worrying, you know? I want to be going into the next season fit and healthy, not getting over a leg injury. It’s a big year, I want to be at my best.”

Before he knew what was happening, George was reaching out and squeezing Owen’s shoulder. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he quickly moved his hand away. They’d never been touchy-feely friends. They’d give the occasional tough man hug but that was it. “Owen, you’ll be okay. In a few weeks you can start rehab and before you know it you’ll be flying through pre-season training like you were never injured.” He licked his lips and avoided eye contact, his gaze landed on Owen’s long, tanned fingers wrapped around the bottle.

Glancing over at George, Owen couldn’t help but sense the change in atmosphere. There had never been an awkward tension between them before. Their usual friendly banter was missing and strangely, George was avoiding looking at him. He hoped George hadn’t seen him staring as he licked the beer off his hand and felt uncomfortable about it. He shifted in his seat, unintentionally mirroring George’s position, tucking his uninjured leg beneath him.

“I get that. It doesn’t stop me worrying though.”

“Oh, of course not. But even in recovery, you have a better shot of making the team than me. You’ve established yourself; you’re a key player. I’m still new. There’s no guarantee I’ll be on the world cup team.” He didn’t mean to sound mopey.

“You’re a good player, George. You just need more confidence. You can’t panic if things don’t go to plan, you have to move past it and focus on what happens next.” Owen tucked his free hand into a fist in order to stop himself from reaching out and grasping his friend’s shoulder. He hadn’t failed to notice George quickly snatch his hand away from him earlier, almost as if he was shocked by the contact.

George shifted in his seat, his eyes trained on Owen’s fist which clenched sporadically, almost as if he wanted to reach out and touch him but couldn’t let himself do it. George closed his eyes briefly before finally looking into the steely eyes of Owen. What he saw there surprised him. Tenderness and love swam in his stormy eyes and his soft lips parted ever so slightly. George took a deep breath and moved closer to Owen. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but he absolutely had to do it. The urge was almost unbearable.

Owen was shocked when George moved towards him and his lips touched his. They were warm and tasted faintly of beer. He froze and didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His steel blue eyes looked straight into the sky blue eyes of his childhood friend and he pulled away ever so slightly.

“George… what?.... I…” he didn’t know what to say and he most definitely didn’t know what to think, at least, that’s what he’d tell himself later to explain what he did next. He wasn’t thinking. He grabbed George’s shoulder, pulled him even closer and planted his lips back on his friend’s.

Owen waited until George closed his eyes, until he shut his too, and they were kissing. Frantic, passionate, wild kisses, their tongues dancing together perfectly. George bit Owen’s lip, causing a groan to erupt from deep in Owen’s chest. Their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. Owen’s hands shot into George’s hair, pulling at the strands desperately, trying his hardest to bring them even closer together than they already were before gripping his waist tightly, unable to get enough of their chests and mouths being pressed together. Owen pulled his lips away and trailed kisses down George’s neck; his warm breath brushing against his skin and the soft, peck of his lips triggered an automatic response. George felt his trousers tighten across his crotch as his body responded, and he reared back in shock. Pulling Owen’s hands from his hair he jumped up from the sofa and backed away from Owen.

Breathing heavily, Owen stared at George in shock. His lips were red and swollen, his chest rising and falling heavily, his hair spiked up everywhere and his eyes were wide with surprise and… lust. He was almost certain that if he were to look in a mirror, the same look would be reflected on his own face.

“God, Owen. I’m sorry, I don’t… I’m sorry!” George turned sharply in the centre of the room and hurried out through the door. Owen didn’t hear the door slam shut.

Owen hobbled from the sofa to the front window and watched George rush across the road towards his house without so much as a backwards glance. He couldn’t believe they’d actually kissed. He’d never even thought about it before, so why it happened he didn’t know. He couldn’t deny the fact he’d enjoyed it or that he was disappointed when George jumped away from him, though.

Grabbing his phone off the coffee table, Owen limped into the hallway, intending to follow George, but stopped at his mum’s photo wall. In the middle of the vast display of family photos, childhood snaps and embarrassing school portraits, a certain photo caught his eye. In the image, an 11 year old George and a 12 year old Owen are stood under the goal posts of their club in matching England shirts. Arms thrown across each other’s shoulders, their muddy faces grin delightedly into the camera. They’d always been the best of friends.

Dragging a hand across his face, Owen returned to the living room and flopped onto the sofa. Did he want to pursue something with George? Butterflies attacked his stomach in response. The only thing holding him back from telling George how he felt about him was the thought that it may not work out and he’d lose his best friend, yet on an instinctive level, he knew that wouldn’t happen. Deciding to bite the bullet and follow his heart instead of his brain, for once, he pulled out his phone.

Owen: _About earlier, I can’t say I wasn’t surprised but… I liked it. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to scare you off but I’d like to see where this could go, if you’re interested._

 

Knowing the wait for a reply would kill him, Owen threw his phone to the other end of the sofa and forced himself to pay attention to the football. He couldn’t even remember who was playing and by the time he’d decided football players are all melodramatic drama queens that wouldn’t know true pain if it hit them in the face, his phone was buzzing. Lunging across the sofa he scooped it up and swiped his thumb across the screen to open the message. His heart was thudding in his chest and he was sure the butterflies in his stomach were about to break into the open.

George: I _liked it too. You could never scare me off, Owen. I thought I’d scared you off when I lunged at you. I’d love to see where it could go, if you’re sure?_

 

Owen: _I’m sure, George._

 

Owen: _Get back over here!_

Seconds later the front door was thrown open, banging against the wall and George was strolling into the room with a huge grin on his face. He sat on the cushion which Owen patted invitingly and rested his head on his shoulder. Owen sighed happily as he draped his arm over George’s shoulders and got comfy.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

 George shifted his head to look Owen in the eye. “Me either, but I’m so happy. Promise me, Owen, we’ll stay friend’s whatever happens.”

 “I promise, George. Just don’t screw up and we’ll be fine.” He smirked. George punched Owen’s healthy leg in response and curled into his side happily. They both knew they had an uncertain path ahead of them, things to talk about and questions to answer but for now they were happy.

 

 

 

 


End file.
